Timothy McGee's Mistake
by AppleTop
Summary: Tim has always tried so hard to not make any mistakes, but the first time that he does, his job is ripped away.
1. Enter the Vance

Agent Timothy McGee eased open Director Vance's office door as he had a million times before and quietly made his way over to the Director's desk. This was a foreboding meeting, seeing he had been summoned as soon as he arrived at NCIS headquarters. He had barely set his backpack on his desk when a call came in for him from the Director's secretary for him to immediately report to Director Vance's office. It wasn't necessarily unusual, but a debriefing normally came at least six hours after a case. Plus, there was the fact that Gibbs usually was the one called in after an investigation.

It shouldn't have surprised McGee as much though. He had always been Vance's favorite agent, one that was supposed to be a "model" for the younger employees of NCIS. Vance would call him in every once and awhile to give him pointers. This time was different though. Tim had made a mistake on their last case. How Vance had heard about it so quickly was a mystery.

That man must have eyes and ears everywhere, as Tony was always stating to the team.

As Vance gestured for him to sit, Tim wearily sunk into the armchair beside the desk. Leaning forward in the chair, he held his head in his hands while attempting to steady his breathing. Once he had it a bit more even, Tim lifted his head and gazed at Vance, who was waiting patiently with his hands clasped in front of him on the desk. Tim wiped at his bloodshot eyes before clearing his throat, "Director Vance…" his voice then choked.

"Do you know why you're here, McGee?" Vance asked after Tim lost his voice.

Tim looked down, studying his dirt-caked shoes, "Yes, sir."

"You realize that a stunt like that could get both yourself and your team killed?"

"Yes, sir."

"Agent McGee, look at me," Vance ordered.

Tim lifted his head and stared at the Director. The blood had again started trickling down his cheek from the gash in his temple and the massive black and blue bruises covering his jaw ached from when he had face-first hit the ground. He cradled his left wrist for a moment as the fractured bone began to throb again.

"McGee, you're a damn good agent, one of the few that I've seen that has unlimited potential. I put you on Gibbs' team for that very reason. I can see you becoming the head of that team within ten years. Hell, even director in fifteen! But after what you pulled today, I can see you in a body bag within two. You can't be a hero everyday, McGee. I thought Gibbs would have taught you better than that! You can't dive in and save everyone with one sweep. Your teammates can take care of themselves without you jumping into the fray and being damned reckless!"

"They were going to die, Director," McGee swallowed, "They were trapped in the house without knowing the bomb was under them."

"And you could have alerted them, or even gotten them out yourself, but what made you think that you were the bomb squad all of the sudden? What were you thinking running out of the house with an armed bomb in your hands? What if you had tripped and that thing gone off? What if you didn't dispose of it in time? You wouldn't be sitting here right now, McGee. You were damn lucky that you weren't killed today!"

"That house was the only evidence that we had on McMurphy!" McGee protested as he stood, showing the first sign of another emotion other than quiet shame and obedience.

"So you risk your team's lives just for evidence? McGee, use your head! We could get McMurphy on other charges, we didn't have to have the house for that!"

"But Director-" Tim was cut off by Vance continuing louder to drown him out, "But _nothing_, Agent McGee! You're on reassignment until I figure out a suitable team for you to be a member of, if I decide to put you on a team again. I know one thing though, you're not going back to Gibbs' team."

"Director Vance, I haven't done anything to deserve that punishment!" Tim found himself shouting in shock as he moved to stand in front of the Director's desk, "It was a simple mistake that won't happen again, sir!"

"I can't take that chance, McGee," Vance shook his head with a hint of regret passing over his features, "Gibbs is about to lead his team on a deep undercover mission and I'm not sure that I can trust you to not screw it up with your heroics."

"What? Director, I'm an integral member of Gibbs' team," objected Tim. His head reeled at the thought of being reassigned. It had taken him years to earn the little respect he had now. Tim's heart began to pump even more vigorously as adrenaline raced through his system. This couldn't be happening…not this. Tony had finally quit calling him "Probie" after all those years of being the timid agent worried about screwing up all the time. As soon as he gained the confidence to stand on his own two feet, he made one mistake and he was booted back down to the bottom again!

"Not anymore, Agent McGee," Vance continued, leaving Tim no time to think, "I expect you to clear your desk and report to the basement at 0800 to be ready to work. Is that clear?" Vance fixed him with a steely gaze that wouldn't be broken. Tim realized that arguing wouldn't do him any good. Vance was exactly like Gibbs in the respect of being stubborn about decisions. Once either man made up their mind, there was no going back. Tim supposed that made Vance a good director and Gibbs a good team leader. Either position, Tim wouldn't see. Not at this rate.

"Transparent, sir," Tim nodded slowly, voice growing quiet once more.

"Good," Vance looked back down at the files stacked neatly on his desk before glancing back up at Tim who had turned to leave, "For the record, Agent McGee, you're still a damn good agent. This is just a setback. I hope you learn from your mistake."

Tim didn't bother turning back to face his superior, instead continuing for the door. He did stop at the threshold, hand gripping the handle poised to pull it open, and said over his shoulder flatly, "I hope you learn from yours."

Tim ripped open the door and stepped through to the reception room, before catching his pent-up breath. Where had that come from? Didn't he realize that he could get fired for saying that? Being transferred was bad enough, but being fired was a million times worse. No other agency would take him on if he were fired. His career would practically be over.

_What were you thinking, McGee? _Tim wondered.

He didn't have long to mentally review the conversation, for Gibbs was sitting on the couch staring at him intently before standing and coming over to Tim.

"Well?"

"I…uh…well-"

"Spit it out, McGee."

"I've been reassigned to the basement," the words tasted like ash on his tongue. They made him sick to his stomach and Tim felt like literally throwing up. He couldn't go back down to the basement. Sure, he was a computer genius and a geek at heart, but those nerds that worshiped his every movement would drive him to the loony bin! Four months down there had made him feel empty and if he was _permanently_ reassigned there…

Bile rose in his throat, but subsided as quickly as it came after Gibbs placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait here," Gibbs simply said.

"Boss-" Tim began, grasping blindly for the words he wanted to say, but was cut off by Gibbs saying sternly, "Just wait here, McGee."

Tim knew it was pointless to argue with Gibbs, especially since he the man who finished most of his sentences or at least cut them off before they could get very far.

Nodding in obedience, he made his way over to the couch and sat down as Gibbs pushed his way into Vance's office without knocking.

_Maybe Gibbs can fix this_, Tim thought desperately, _I can't go down to the basement again, I'll go insane! I belong on Gibbs' team and Vance knows it!_

Meanwhile, Gibbs stormed into Vance's office. Vance looked up at him, as if he were expecting him already. Which he probably was, knowing Gibbs.

"Agent Gibbs, if this is about Agent McGee's transfer, which I am certain it is, it's final. I'm not going to change my mind," the Director spoke.

"What the hell are you playing at, Leon?" Gibbs answered, "You know as well as I do that Timothy McGee is wasted talent in the basement. He doesn't belong there!"

"I know that, Jethro, but that kid needs to be taught a lesson before he gets himself severely hurt."

"This job is dangerous and he's going to get hurt. He's already gotten hurt before. Being a field agent is a risk. Or has the time in that chair made you forget all of that?" Gibbs glared.

Vance was unfazed by the insult, "I haven't forgotten."

"Then what the hell are you doing putting him in the basement?"

"It's not permanent, even though I'd like him to believe that. This is just to teach him that being a hero isn't his job. I don't want him to end up dead before he accomplishes anything," Vance replied coolly.

"He's accomplished a lot, Leon. He wouldn't be your little teacher's pet if he hadn't," Gibbs fought the urge to roll his eyes at his superior.

"Can you just trust me on this, Gibbs?" Vance began to show signs that his patience was wearing thin.

"Fine. But if I need him, he'll be put back on my team."

"It doesn't work like that. It's all or nothing."

Gibbs paused and then grumbled, "Only for now."

Vance nodded, "I'll take what I can get. And just so we're clear, you're not to give Agent McGee any indication that he'll ever be reinstated to your team. This could very well be permanent and we're not about to get his hopes up for nothing. Even I'm not that cruel," Vance cracked a smile at the last part, but only met Gibbs' disapproving stare. Without another word, Gibbs exited the office, closing the door behind him with a sharp _click!_ that seemed to reflect his irritation. Tim looked up immediately, hope clearly written across his face. He stood up quickly and met Gibbs halfway to the door leading to the rest of the building, "What did the Director say?"

Gibbs was silent as Tim matched his pace and then took a breath, "Just do what the Director tells you and it'll be a lot easier. You'll have a better chance if you do."

Tim's heart stopped and so did his movement, "What? You mean you couldn't-"

"No, Tim, he was adamant about his decision. There was nothing I could do," Gibbs answered as he continued for the stairs, leaving Tim in his tracks.

Tim's face fell and his heart throbbed in anguish. Not again, Vance couldn't do this to him again. He couldn't separate him from the team again. He was supposed to be the favorite! The perfect little agent that Vance had always wanted!

Now everything seemed all for naught.

After a long minute of standing stock-still in the middle of the floor, he found feeling in his legs once more and began to move on auto-pilot down the staircase that Gibbs had just went down. He rounded the corner leading him back to the bullpen where Tony and Ziva were watching Gibbs questioningly. It was obvious now that Gibbs had instructed them to stay behind while Tim was in the office with Vance.

Once Tim entered the bullpen, questions from both of his teammates began flying through the air.

"What did Vance say?"

"What did he want with you?"

"What's going on?"

"Why won't Gibbs tell us anything?"

"What's wrong with you?"

Tim sucked in a breath and ignored them. Not that he wanted to, but he couldn't breathe at the moment. He couldn't think or speak either.

His world was turning upside down again and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Tony and Ziva huddled around his desk as Tim set his backpack on the floor and sat down in his swivel chair. He continued to be assaulted by their questions, several inquiring if he was okay, which he mentally noted. Their concern for him had always been minimal, it seemed like. Now that he was leaving them again, he felt comfort to know that they at least cared to know how he was. The only one that wasn't assailing him with questions was the one that already knew everything and didn't seem to care. Tim looked past them to Gibbs who was silently watching the scene unfold. Without speaking to any of his three agents, Gibbs stood up, went to one of the spare desks behind the divider and pulled an empty box from underneath. He then turned and set it on Tim's desk. The two other agents stared at their boss in surprise and the questions flew toward Gibbs, realizing that Tim wouldn't answer.

"He's been reassigned," was all that Gibbs said as Tim absently opened the drawers to his desk and emptied them out into the cardboard box. As he cleared out his desk, Tim vaguely heard Tony accusing Vance of everything under the sun. It was Vance's fault that they had went on the mission. It was Vance's fault that didn't have all of the intel about the case that they needed. It was Vance's fault that their team was being split up again like last time.

Then Tim hesitated in his packing of the box, suddenly listening to Tony's words. They were the same as whenever a botched operation came about due to Vance's orders or lack of information. Tim was used to hearing them, but now they translated differently in his head. Instead of Vance being at fault, it was suddenly him that was on the spot. It was _Tim's_ fault. Suddenly, he stood up, abandoning the box on his desk and grabbed his jacket, heading for the elevator. He felt like running for it, but that would have just drawn more attention to himself. He just needed to get out of there.

As the elevator doors closed shut in front of him he heard Ziva ask, "Is he going to be okay?"

Tim backed up until his back hit the wall and slid down to the floor, feeling the bottled-up tears spring to his eyes. He hugged his knees with his arms and drew in on himself in the silent elevator.

_You can't cry here, McGee_, he told himself, _An NCIS agent doesn't cry at work. _

Not that he was much of an NCIS agent anymore.


	2. The Initial Shock

It took a few minutes of sitting in the elevator for Tim to pull himself together enough to even stand up. Fortunately for him, nobody had tried to get in the elevator while he was there. If he saw anyone he knew, especially anyone from his team, he probably would have dissolved into tears. Though part of him wished that someone would have followed him. Not Gibbs, because Gibbs would make him only feel worse. Ziva probably, but she might make him feel even more inferior because she was always telling them how superior she was at keeping her emotions to herself and not screwing up. He would take Tony, because even though the senior agent often rambled, he knew how to keep his mouth shut. On second thought, Tim disagreed with himself. Tony would use his momentary weakness to tease him. He was always doing that.

Ducky and Palmer were good to talk to, but Ducky was in the middle of an autopsy and Jimmy was out with the flu. The medical examiner never minded him talking during an autopsy, but since Jimmy was out, Ducky had another assistant and Tim didn't feel comfortable spilling his guts in front of someone he didn't know. Abby was still in her lab, but Tim didn't have the strength to push the elevator button and risk seeing someone he knew along the way there. He resolved that he'd call her later. Yeah, that'd be better.

Tim exited the NCIS building and made his way out into the parking lot. The sun was far past down and the lamps lit the lot. They always used Tony's or Gibbs' car for cases, so Tim parked in the back lot. He felt a little better once he reached his car and got inside. Tim sat in the driver's seat for a few minutes as he had in the elevator, staring out the windshield before starting the car. The radio turned on with the car and over the speaker he heard: "-other news, police report an explosion in a resident's pond. A federal agent removed a bomb from 426 Harlem Way and tossed it into the lot's man-made pond in the backyard. The explosion-"

Reaching over, Tim turned off the radio and sat there in silence before backing out of the parking space. He wrapped his fractured wrist across his bruised side and winced with slight pain. The EMTs who had come out to the house had looked him over, given him painkillers, and said he didn't have to go to the hospital for his injuries. He just needed to see his doctor sometime the next day. Tim knew he probably shouldn't be driving, but he didn't want to leave his car at headquarters and take the bus. Neither did he want to face anyone to ask for a ride home. He could take care of himself, right? Well, maybe not. Vance didn't seem to think so. Did it matter what Vance thought now? Obviously, his lack of faith had spurred him to throw him back to the basement. Tim was familiar with the psychology of the working world and when you are demoted, you don't retaliate, you pick up the pace and do better.

He was so _tired_ though. How could he do better when he had been running a marathon to be ahead of the game? That was where the occupational psychologists failed. They didn't have an answer for the overachiever. At least not yet.

Tim rubbed his eyes with his bad hand as he kept one on the steering wheel. His driving was based on autopilot as he rode through the night to his apartment. He was looking forward to his nice soft bed once he got there after a long hot shower. He deserved something nice after him and his teammates nearly getting blown up that day. They didn't even appreciate what he did for them! If he hadn't have gotten that bomb out of the house, they would have all been dead. If it weren't for him, NCIS wouldn't have the evidence to put McMurphy behind bars for the rest of his life.

In frustration, Tim weaved in and out of the traffic and sped a little faster to his apartment. Once arriving, he parked his Porsche in his designated spot in the garage. He slowly got out of the vehicle, feeling the aches and pains from earlier flying through the air and crashing to the ground. That was definitely going to leave a few marks in the morning. While closing his door and locking the car, he caught a glimpse of his face in the reflective metal of his car. Wincing, he turned away, not touching the scratches and bruises.

A few minutes later, he arrived in his apartment having wandered there slowly, feeling more secure with every step he took. _There were no bombs here, nothing can hurt me here_, Tim told himself, _just Mrs. Barnett's casseroles she tries to get me to eat at Thanksgiving._

He turned the key in the lock and stepped inside to be immediately attacked by Jethro. Tim smiled despite himself as he petted the German Shepherd on the head and closed the door behind him.

"Hey, Jethro," Tim greeted his dog and led him into the kitchen and to the pantry where the dog food was stashed, "I bet you were getting kinda hungry, weren't you?"

Jethro woofed in agreement as Tim poured the food into his bowl and refilled his water at the sink. Washing his hands, he then opened the fridge and looked for something to eat. He was tempted to order pizza, but he then found a can of white chicken chili and heated that up over the stove. Pouring it into a bowl and finding a bag of tortilla chips, Tim ate in his bedroom while watching the news on TV. The explosion in the pond hadn't made it to ZNN and he doubted it would go farther than one of the minor papers in the area.

Jethro wandered to Tim's bedroom and laid down at the foot of his bed, stretching out there. Tim rubbed his dog's belly briefly before going to take a shower. It took only a few minutes to wash everything before he leaned up against the tile wall as steam billowed all around him. He eventually sank to the floor, letting the water pour over him without resistance. Salty water ran down his cheek and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Without any rush, he stood up and turned off the water. Drying his hair with his hands running through it, he then wrapped his towel around his waist. Stepping up to the mirror, he stared at the cuts and bruises on his face with rapt fascination. He traced the smaller cuts with his index finger as he stared into the mirror. He ran his hands over the bruises along his jaw and winced when they were ultra-sensitive to the touch. Taking a washcloth, he gently wiped away at the dried blood at the large gash on his forehead. Tim had left the scene a t the house before he could be taken to the hospital for stitches and nobody had been concerned enough to remind him to go or to take him to the hospital.

When he washed his wounded face with the skin cleanser Tony always made fun of him for, the gash stung making Tim hiss in pain. He bit his lip and studied his bare torso. Yellow, brown and green bruises colored his pale skin. Several were more blue than the others and he didn't bother touching them. Tearing his gaze away from his skin, he brushed his teeth and dressed in his pajamas of a thin t-shirt and boxers. He went and sat on the bed and stared at his cellphone he had thrown onto the bed. Picking it up and holding it in his hands for a few moments, he hesitated before dialing a familiar number.

"This is Abby," came a female voice after two rings. Tim smiled a little at her friendly voice and could hear the loud music of her lab blaring in the background, "Hey, Abby, it's Tim."

"Timmy!" Abby nearly shouted into the phone, "Where did you go after work? I expected you to come to the lab and see me, but Tony said you went to see Vance and then left. He said you got _reassigned_! He didn't say where though."

"Vance reassigned me to the basement," Tim sighed. Abby's music abruptly died and it was quiet on the other end, "You're going back down there? Why?"

"Because obviously Vance doesn't think I'm capable of doing my job. I made one little mistake and I get thrown back in the dungeon."

Abby's voice started out as a whisper and then grew louder as she spoke, "What was Vance _thinking_? Doesn't he know that you belong on Gibbs' team? Why is he putting you back there? Is the team being broken up again? Will Ziva be going back to Israel and Tony transferred? What's going to happen, McGee?"

"I don't know, Abby," Tim fought to keep his voice calm as all of those questions flitted through his mind. Jethro, sensing his master's discomfort, scooted across the bed to lay his head in Tim's lap for moral support. "I'll figure it out," Tim continued, "And we won't all be broken up again. I promise you that, Abby. We're not going to lose touch and go our separate ways. Not again."

It was silent on the other side for a long moment. Tim would have thought that Abby had hung up if not for her faint breathing and the absence of a dial tone.

"I believe you," Abby finally responded, "And you better keep your promise."

Tim smiled, despite Abby couldn't see him, "I will, Abbs. Scout's honor."

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I have to get the things from my desk and I'll come see you before I report in downstairs."

"Okay," Abby's voice was soft, "I guess I'll see you then, McGee."

"Alright," Tim said quietly.

"You know, Tim-" Abby's voice trailed off for a moment, "Hold on, I've got another call coming in-"

"You can take it, I need to be getting to bed anyway."

"Okay…well…bye, Timmy."

"Bye, Abby."

Tim hung up the phone and sighed, sliding to where his head hit his pillow. He reached up and turned off his lamp and set his alarm clock before settling into his sheets. His green eyes stared up at the ceiling and he sighed once more before letting them slide shut.

Meanwhile, Leon Vance was up late at his desk at the NCIS headquarters. He rubbed his tired eyes as he flipped another page in the folder he had been pouring over. Taking up his pen once more, he wrote "Timothy McGee" on the top of the page. Glancing at the notes he had made, he was certain with his choice. He sighed as he closed the file. He felt guilty, yet relieved at the same time. McGee's minor screw-up couldn't have come at a better time. He had been the number one candidate for Vance's next big project, but hadn't been available. The Director had been scouting out alternatives to McGee because it would have been suspicious to pull McGee off of Gibbs' team out of the blue. Vance definitely did not want anyone scrutinizing what operations he had going on. Especially one so classified as the upcoming one.

However, he still felt guilty for giving the young agent a hard time. He had to play up McGee's minor screw-up that normally would have warranted: "Don't do that. Be better next time and use your head." Yet timing had been perfect and Vance had this one opportunity to wrangle in the man he wanted for the job. He couldn't pass that up just to keep from hurting someone's feelings. He was the Director of NCIS and he had the right to assign anyone to any project, as discreetly or openly as he wanted without question. Besides, McGee was an adult and could take whatever was thrown at him. Otherwise, he wouldn't have his job. Hell, Vance wouldn't even want McGee to keep his job in the MCRT if he couldn't handle a little pressure.

Everything would soon fall into place once DiNozzo, David, and Gibbs went undercover on foreign soil. They would be out of the country for weeks while Tim would be working. They wouldn't have the occasion to interfere with Tim's work as they usually tried to do. Ducky was taking Jimmy on a trip to Edinburgh, Scotland to visit his alma mater and attend seminars on the latest in forensic medicine. Vance was relieved that that fell into place, because while Ducky would be occupied with autopsies, Jimmy was free to do whatever he pleased when he wasn't assisting Ducky. Vance knew that Jimmy and Tim had drinks or hung out after work several times a week. The only one that Vance had to worry about was Abby, who Vance resolved to give cold cases. That would keep her busy and content…well, content enough to not get in the way of his proceedings. That still might not be enough though. Abby had a knack for sticking her nose in other people's business when she had a hint that something "hinky" was going on. Her ability to sense something was amiss was uncanny, Vance had to admit.

Turning off the desk lamp, Vance stood and stretched. His joints popped and he groaned from having sat in the chair for so long. He hit a new line on his desk phone and dialed an extension number, putting the phone on speaker.

"Yes?" came a male voice a moment later.

"Has Agent McGee's special equipment been installed yet?"

"Yes, Director."

"Good. Be sure that everything is finalized for in the morning."

"Will do."

Vance hung up the phone, rubbing the back of his neck before grabbing his coat. Jackie would be waiting up for him since he didn't call home earlier. This was one of the first long nights he would have at the office, he knew.

It came with the job.


	3. Long Time, No See

"What the hell is all this?" was the first thing that Tim asked once he arrived in his new "office" in the basement the next morning. He stood there in the doorway of the room and stared at the row of monitors lined up along the desk in a semi-circle. Then his gaze shifted upward to the huge plasma screen above the desk. Wires snaked up the walls into the ceiling and various screens were mounted on the wall around the plasma screen. This had definitely been here the last time he had been down to the basement. Back then, the workplace had been a wide-open space, desks littered everywhere. Since then, they had built actual concrete rooms down there. However, he had passed other rooms that just had a computer or two, not all that he had. Tim would have been certain that he was in the wrong office if it hadn't have had "Agent McGee" scrawled on the whiteboard attached to the door. Tentatively entering the room, he saw a file resting on the desk beside the primary keyboard. He picked it up and swallowed when he saw the red stamp of "Classified" on the front cover.

Great. Classified missions down in Cybercrimes were _definitely_ what he wanted to do with his time.

Though it wasn't as if he really had a choice in the matter.

"McGee?" asked a loud voice behind him. Jumping, McGee dropped the file back onto his desk and turned quickly to see a short-haired man with a stubbly beard standing there dressed in khakis and a button-down shirt, "What are you doing back in Cybercrimes? Vance finally kicked you to the curb?"

"Uh, yeah," Tim nodded, accepting that answer for his own. He really didn't know what he was doing down there anyway, "I'm sure it's only temporary, Fergus."

The other man studied him skeptically, "That's what you said last time, McGee, and you stayed down here for months. Temporary is a matter of weeks, not months."

"Well, I'm sure I'll be back in the MCRT before you even get used to me being here," McGee bit back his irritation with the computer geek and turned away from him. Fergus was the overlord of the geeks down in the basement. He was the head of Cybercrimes and lorded his intelligence over all of the employees. Often, he called the other computer analysts by derogatory names and kept them in the office for hours on end, not going home until the crack of dawn. That had changed when Tim came to work in Cybercrimes when his team was separated. Suddenly, Fergus wasn't top dog anymore and Tim was named the savior of the geeks. He made sure that everyone was treated fairly under his management (him being the leader since he was an actual field agent) and in turn, he was treated like royalty. Fergus had been knocked down a few pegs during Tim's "reign." However, the moment that Tim was transferred back upstairs, Fergus resumed his former role and cracking down even harder than before.

"Look, McGee," Tim felt Fergus come closer and unconsciously shielded the classified folder with his braced hand, "I don't know why you're here, but you better stay out of my way."

Tim turned back, surprised at the anger in Fergus' voice, "What?"

"I'm working on some pretty important government work and I don't want you interfering with my operation," Fergus crossed his arms over his chest, "Understand?"

"Uh…sure," Tim nodded slightly, "Whatever you say, Fergus."

"Good."

Without another word, Fergus stalked out of Tim's office. Tim stared after him for a moment. What had _that _been all about?

Still wary, Tim closed his door, noticing that it didn't have a lock on it. He sat down in his new chair, mentally noting that it squeaked and he would need to oil it (maintenance never seemed to take care of those little things that made everything run smoother.) He took a deep breath and opened the foreboding file.

"You have got to be kidding me," Tim stared at the paper in shock. He couldn't believe what he was reading. His eyes scanned the sticky-notes and the pictures stuffed in between pages, held there by numerous paperclips. This was bad. Horribly bad.

A knock came at his door, making Tim jump. Opening the door, he was expecting to see Fergus there for round two, but instead he saw Tony standing there. The senior agent leaned against the doorframe casually, looking mildly distressed.

"Tony?" Tim asked with concern evident in his voice, "What are you doing down here?"

"Hey, McGee," Tony began, "Uh, Vance moved up our date to where we're going to start our undercover mission day after tomorrow and we need to be out of DC by tonight. I just wanted to…uh, say goodbye since you're not coming with us…"

"Aw, Tony, I didn't know you cared," Tim managed to insert some sarcasm into the conversation to make Tony feel more comfortable with the awkward goodbye. Tony always did deal better with jokes than being serious and pouring out his heart. Then Tim grew more serious, "Thanks, Tony. I appreciate you coming by."

"No problem," Tony shifted on his feet, "Ziva is gonna miss you too on this one."

"Really?" Tim raised his eyebrows.

"Sure," Tony shrugged in response, eyes downcast, "You were her first friend here."

Tim narrowed his eyebrows from their raised position. What was Tony getting out? Ziva was equally their friend, they just had differing relationships with her. Had something gone down between him and Ziva when he wasn't there? Tim was about to speak when Tony's cellphone rang. Tony held up a finger, gesturing for him to hold on a moment, and answered the call, "DiNozzo…yeah, Boss, I'll be up there in a minute." He flashed an apologetic glance at Tim as he tucked his cellphone back into his jacket, "I have to go. The Boss needs me."

Swallowing hard, Tim nodded, "Yeah, I know. Good luck on your mission."

"Thanks, Tim."

With that, Tony left Tim to stand there in the doorway of his office all alone. Feeling drained even though it was still early in the morning, Tim sat back down and placed his head in his hands, elbows resting on the desk and read the file from that position. Startled, he jumped a little in his seat as he viewed the main picture. He couldn't tear his eyes away from it once he saw who it was. It was a picture of Tony standing outside the coffee shop right outside the Navy Yard, clutching his coffee, unknowing that he was being photographed. The innocence in Tony's face gripped Tim's heart. Someone was gunning for his best friend.

On a scrap piece of paper stapled to the top of the sheet, Vance had scribbled: "McGee, you're the one I trust with this operation. Tony is your best friend so I know you will handle this with diligence. David and Gibbs are with DiNozzo out of the country providing his protection while undercover and you have an opportunity to find whoever is targeting DiNozzo. Your teammates do not know about your assignment and they will NOT know about it. We believe that whoever is after DiNozzo has been targeting other agents, so be careful. Good luck."

Tim closed the file, sick to his stomach. Why would anyone be after Tony now? Since his frame-up and time being held in jail, Tony had gone lengths to make sure that he tied up loose ends and had a list of enemies that he should be wary of. If Tim was to give his friend credit for anything, it was that Tony quickly learned from his mistakes.

"What have you gotten yourself into this time, Tony?" Tim sighed, speaking to the empty air.


End file.
